[alexandra roseanne montague]

What a strange house the Montague Estate had become over the years, the sun was shining bright outside; birds, possibly were singing beautifully, and though the shades were drawn and many windows were opened to let the fresh air pass through freely, everything still just felt musty, cold – almost like winter in a way. Alexandra’s eyes focused in and out as she walked down the long spacious corridors that mazed their way throughout the Montague Estate, during her first couple of months here at the Estate, she would constantly ask the hired what hallway would lead where, and which way would take her the fastest. It had now been years since then, and Alexandra had in fact memorized which paths to take in order to go there, the east hall, passing through the dining hall, or the south, which she tried to stay away, due to the fact that she would often stay longer and converse about dinner plans with the cook, especially with the 'so and so's coming to dinner later that week.

Alexandra's rose pink colored silk lined dress, shuffled across the floor softly as she mad her way through the old library brimming with books from the time of a king’s obsession for his mistress caused the uprising and change of religions. Passing through other rooms, Alexandra made her way to the back door of Oliver’s study. Alexandra entered quietly, unaware of what type of mood her husband was currently in; ever since his brother’s death, Oliver’s mood was quite unpredictable, and had kept Alexandra and the staff on edge for a possible outrage. Alexandra’s eyes focused on Oliver Montague, who was curled down over his cherry wood desk, peering across different types of deeds of the extended 900+ acres of the Montague Estate, such hard work her dear Oliver piled onto himself. He must’ve been planning to stay in here all night. Alexandra thought to herself, as she saw Christine, the young maid, bringing a large plate to Oliver. “I’ll take it to him, Mr. Montague really shouldn’t be disturbed if he feels so busy.”

Alexandra ran her fingers across Oliver’s back, as she set the plate of cheeses, meats, and breads on his left. Her eyes quickly met with his, and her lips graced his cheek softly as she took his glass and filled it up with the ale in the pitcher on the table. “Darling.” Her voice cooing softly as if she were whispering sweet somethings in his ear, though she was perching herself on the edge of the cherry desk. She pulled the glass to her colored lips, taking a small sip for herself before giving back to Oliver. "I'm sorry, if I'm disturbing you, Oliver; but you've been in here nearly all day." A small smile fell across her face, as her small and nimble fingers lightly scanned across the papers, as her eyes followed. "Oh, how interesting this all looks Oliver, I see why you keep yourself so busy with it."

[oliver richard montague]

Since Henry’s death, Oliver seemed to spend the vast majority of his time locked away in his study, poring over letters and sources from various ‘spies’ positioned around the country, in the constant hope that someone would have spotted Arabella and he would at least know where to begin his search for the girl. Of course he revealed none of this to his wife – it would only worry her, after all, and Oliver considered that she had enough worries right now without him adding to her list of concerns with his stubborn refusal to give up his lust for revenge. So, to save her fretting, Oli masqueraded what he was really doing as work, seemingly spending hours consulting the deeds of the various farms on the estate, or balancing figures for his staff wages and taxable incomes, and the pair went along quite happily with his charade. Another reason that he spent so much time locked in the privacy of his vast oak-panelled study, with it’s huge desk and plush furnishing, was because it meant he could avoid his wife and her questioning and concern, and therefore he could avoid arguing with her. Perhaps it was the coward’s way out, but at the moment it suited Oliver just fine. He knew how his obsession with Arabella Crofft was beginning to get to her – well, not beginning, but growing – and they seemed to bicker and fight the majority of time that she tried to distract his attentions from the job at hand, even though she never spoke out of line and was always kind and courteous to him. However, today he was feeling amicable, and though he flinched at the hand passing across his back – his mind was so preoccupied with murder and outlaws that he thought for one horrifying moment they had come and found him themselves before he could see his task through – Oliver managed a bittersweet smile as he watched his wife pour ale for him, and the smile grew as she raised the cup to her lips and took a drink to satisfy her own thirst. With a heavy sigh, Oliver shrugged, shuffling the papers around on his desk to ensure that the deeds were the only thing that she could see, and he laughed gently at her curiosity, reaching out to take her hand as she sat beside him on the desk.

“It’s tiresome, and not interesting in the slightest, darling. In fact, if anything, I’d say all this paperwork is driving me quite mad.”

He sighed then, getting to his feet and moving so his athletic body fit comfortably between her legs which hung over the edge of the desk, guarded by her skirts. He hadn’t been interested in her, really, since Henry had died – their bedchamber had become a cold and desolate place, with Oliver sleeping stubbornly with his back to her, or being woken in the night in cold sweats, screaming his brother’s name as the callous flashbacks and the power of his imagination worked overtime to relive the horror story of his murder in Oliver’s feverish mind. But now his smile was gentle, his hand reaching up to caress her face, the blue eyes burning into her own as he took the cup of ale and drank from it in mirror of her previous gesture, and when the cup had been replaced to the desk he leaned forward and kissed her forehead in a gesture of supreme tenderness. He hadn’t told her that he had met Arabella at the churchyard only the day before, standing over Henry’s grave. He hadn’t mentioned that he had let her walk away, and he definitely hadn’t given way the fact that he had kissed her, whatever the reasons were behind his rash display of passion. Sighing as though in regret, Oli leaned forward so their brows were resting together, his eyes fluttering closed as their fingers tangled together and he merely stood like that, enjoying the proximity of their bodies – if he listened closely, he was sure he could hear her heartbeat in the silence of the room. Oliver knew how his wife craved his attention, and before the ‘incident’ he had always been sure to bestow it upon her, spoiling her almost with the spotlight of his captivation which remained focused on her at all times, with no room for another woman or any other distraction in his life. But recently he had taken away that spotlight and left her alone in the dark and cold, but he was determined that things should begin to change – after all, Arabella had already been responsible for the death of his brother. Oliver didn’t want to make her memory responsible for the demise of his marriage, too. Opening his eyes, Oli spoke in a soft and gentle voice, his hand moving up to pass gently over the pinned curls of his wife’s intricate hairstyle, adoring her all the more because she always tried so hard to please him.

“I think I’ve done all that I can with this today. Why don’t we saddle Horatio, and go for a ride in the forest – just you and me? It seems years since we did that, and the deer will be moving into the park at this time of the afternoon.”

It was an olive branch – a small gesture of trust to help repair and bridge the gap which he had solemnly created between them over the past weeks. But, together in his study, alone and entwined in a position which was intimate if not sensual, he felt as though he’d never been away from her arms, and once again, Oliver Montague was more grateful for his wonderful wife than he had ever been before.

[alexandra roseanne montague]

Alexandra's eyes focused on Oliver as he took a sip of ale. As he set the glass down, she smiled as he pulled himself closer, nestling himself in her. She pulled off of the desk, and wrapped herself in his embrace, her head resting on his chest. "It's felt like ages since we've only been together." Alexandra stated softly. "Centuries since we've done anything else, Oliver." Her eyes quickly parted, as did she from his embrace; walking across the study. "A ride on your beloved stallion won't fix what is happening between us Oliver!" A quick gasp escaped her, while her hand covered her mouth, begging the words that had just sputtered out to erase themselves.

Tears welled in her blue eyes both in sadness and fury, as they face eachother, in what seemed to be one of their many heated debates since Henry Montague's horrible death. "I am lucky if I recieve a small kiss before you turn against me when you sleep. You sit in this god damned study all day, and every day; plotting to find Arabella! You loved me because I was smart, cunning, I speak my mind like no other lady should, and yet -- you think I am dumb enough to not realize what you're in here plotting?!" She strode to the table, wiping away the papers concerning about farms, staff wages; showing all of the information concerning Arabella. "While here I am, pining here looking like a fool." As she became heated, her face began to fluster, and she started to pace back and forth in the study.

"You took me as your wife, and now you are ignoring me? Everyday, you sit here, hour after hour; while I'm forced to go out and live; yes, it hurts me as well about Henry, but we are forced to go on, isn't that what he would've wanted Oliver?" Alexandra screamd in frustration, her hair slowly become unpinned; her chest rising up and down heavily. She knew what she must do, and though it was a lie; it was the only thing that would pull Oliver's mind off of the obession of Henry's murderer. Tears welled in her eyes, and she slowly started to shake with fear. Her hand, which was grasped on her neck, that had left small red indentions across the base, slowly moved to her stomach. "Do you not think that Henry would've wanted you to care for not only your wife, but child?"

[oliver richard montague]

Oliver could do nothing but stare, shocked and unbelieving, as he watched his wife’s temper crack and finally give way under the strain of the charade they were living in their daily struggle of life. He had never seen her so angry before, and the thought that she was rejecting his attempt to at least make steps toward peace between them made him angry, too. As the woman strode forward to push aside the papers on his desk – sending them scattering to the floor around his feet – Oliver lunged forward to stop her, but he was too late and she too keen to expose his lies for what they really were. Agitated, Oliver occupied himself with reshuffling the papers onto his desk. In moments she had ruined years of organization of his father’s records but, as it always seemed to be at the moment for him, Oliver couldn’t quite bring himself to be too angry at her for doing so. Instead his anger was aimed at her attempts to interject into his hunt, his search for the woman who had taken away his little brother with her callous hatred. He winced under the burden of her words, knowing she was right, of course – even her use of his full name hurt him, for she normally insisted on calling him Ollie, and even though he frequently made it clear that he was not fond of the abbreviation, it seemed suddenly warm and loving in stark contrast to the way she spoke his name now. Watching her fury build made Oliver angrier himself, and he shook his head, still bitterly reorganizing his paperwork although now it was merely to distract himself from looking at her, not to bring any kind of order to the table.

“You don’t understand, Alexandra! You could not hurt as much as I do! He was my brother, and I failed him. You knew him for a couple of years, and most of the time you made it plain that you disliked him. Don’t try and convince me that you’re in as much pain as I am!”

He was shouting at her too, now, his cheeks flushing a savage red which spread down his neck as a nerve flickered dangerously in his forehead. His eyes, as blue as the ocean and normally just as serene, suddenly became grey and tumultuous with the threat of the oncoming storm. And then she all but accused him of being a bad husband, and Oliver could do nothing but laugh a hollow laugh of pure disbelief, his head shaking to one side and then the other as he rounded on her, furious.

“How dare you! How dare you accuse me of not being good enough! You, woman, you took me as your husband, too – and that means I should be able to count upon your support, even when everyone else has lost faith or abandoned me. In sickness and in health, for better and for worse. And yet here you are, questioning what I am doing, trying to make me feel guilty for wanting to protect the memory of my brother and the family name which you have been blessed with! God help me, woman. God help me.”

Oliver too, was shaking – but mainly because the taste of ale had once again woken in him the promise of forgetting, if only for a few hours. Now he wanted nothing more than for her to get out of his study, to leave him alone, so he could drink himself into a stupor beside the fire and for a few brief hours, if nothing more, forget about the pain that was slowly breaking him, crushing him beneath it’s heavy weight and threatening to turn him into something he was not. But then at the mention of a child, his head snapped up, his eyes narrowing in quiet suspicion as he tried to ascertain from her facial expression whether or not he was hearing things. But she seemed deadly serious, even though she was trembling, and Oliver’s eyes moved to watch her hand rest upon her stomach and for a moment he was at a loss for words.

It had been so long since they had made love – previously, their love life had been epic, and every night had been spent clutched to one another with the sweat drying on their bodies and the sheets damp and in disarray. But with Henry’s death, Oliver’s desire and libido for his wife both seemed to have waned, and he barely even touched her now – it was, as she said, good fortune on her part if she got so much as a kiss in place of his usual tender affections, his infatuation with her body which stemmed not only from the gap in their ages but from his respect and almost worship of her as a person. Stepping closer, unable to believe it but allowing himself to dare and hope, Oliver’s hand covered her own as it rested upon her stomach, and his eyes locked with hers – searching desperately for the answer he wanted to find beneath her nervousness.

“My child? Alexandra.. Please, tell me you’re not lying to me. Are we – are you – finally? I don’t know what to say. We’re going to have a baby?”

His joy was simple and overwhelming, his anger instantly forgotten as he laughed joyously and kissed her with a renewed passion, their tongues meeting for a brief moment before his arms swept around her body and he pulled her close, stroking the loose coils of her hair as he closed his eyes against tears of unadulterated joy.

“A baby. Thank God! Maybe someone is looking out for us after all, my darling. I’m so sorry I’ve been failing you. But. A baby? I can’t believe it. We must tell everyone at once, there are so many things to plan, I don’t know where to start! Does anybody else know?”

[alexandra roseanne montague]

A smile graced her flustered cheeks, but the smile upon her heart faultered. What have I just done? Alexandra feared now for the worse, as she knew that she was not pregnant. But how can I say anything otherwise? She saw the look of joy on Oliver's face, a look, a smile, that she hadn't seen in so very long; it was a smile that she had missed for a very long time. She nodded. She stood in Oliver's embrace, wishing that this very moment would not end. Her flustered face now returning to its fair complexion. "Yes, a child. Though, possibly." She knew his mind must've been racing, for she heard his heart beat racing entirely. Her heart, tearing itself inside, for lying to her husband was a terrible sin to commit, and though she could hide it -- Alexandra could hide it for only so long before she would've started to show.

"No one but us knows, Ollie." She lured him back in with her pet name. "It is too early to tell, but I do believe that I am with child." She laughed at his many questions, "Calm. We have nine long months to plan, Oliver, there isn't a need to plan it all within the first weeks." Her eyes closed, as her breathing equaled itself with Oliver's. A tear fell down her cheek, as she quickly thought of the reality of her lie. She told him that she was pregnant, and though it normally would be too early to tell, anything would be possible. She quickly thought of possible reasons if she needed to get out of this, hard as it may be, she had to think of reasons. Oliver, I'm sorry. All of the signs were there, but I don't know what happened. False pregnancy. Oliver, its a will of God, for our precious baby to be with him, rather us. Miscarriage. What was she going to do after it was time she should be showing, though? Stuff a pillow under her dress? "I love you, Oliver." Alexandra spoke softly, closing her eyes and wishing that this entire incident would just erase itself.